Exotic sea fare like spiny lobster comes to $212 a portion,
many entrees are priced by the pound and the flicker of IPhone
calculators is much in evidence.

My waiter could not confirm how much an appetizer portion
of stone crab would cost. Typically sold by the claw, the
shellfish here goes for $75 per pound. New York diners know this
gambit well from the inexplicably packed Manhattan flagship of
Milos, where two stone crab claws, chilled into bland
submission, cost $76 on a recent visit.

Kushi oysters are $4 each, which is not so bad considering
there aren’t any oceans in the desert.

Still, not a single waiter at the Las Vegas or Manhattan
locations was willing to approximate the price of a course.

Milos’ chief draw is that it imports seriously delicious
seafood from around the world: Lavraki (a firm and gelatinous
sea bass), emperor fish (cool and buttery) and exotic shellfish
(crevettes).

Crawfish on Steroids

Ever munch on a crevette? It looks like crawfish on
steroids. They’re cooked rare, like langoustines, but instead of
collapsing into ethereal bliss, they poke your taste buds, a
mineral tang trailing the sweetness of the meat.

They’re $24 bucks a pop -- that’s a $72 appetizer, which I
suppose was a good deal, since the next day they were priced at
$89 per pound.

The Vegas outpost offers a near-identical experience to the
New York flagship, which is to say servers must be flagged down
like taxis and on occasion, items on the menu, printed daily,
were not available -- which defeats the point.

How about some langoustines ($65 per pound) and spiny
lobster ($85 per pound)?

“I’m sorry, we’re not carrying them today.”

Fine. What can you tell us about the red mullet?

“Excellent fish, it’s pan fried.”

Perfect, we’ll take three.

“I’m sorry, we’re not serving that today either.”

Bartolotta’s Crustacean

Appetizers are served for the table, which explains the $27
price tag on a tomato salad and $24 for a sampler of supermarket
quality spreads (hummus, yogurt, etc).

Dover sole ($49 per pound) -- Atlantic flounder with a
knighthood -- is everything the sweet, firm fish should be. Skip
sinewy bigeye tuna ($46 for eight ounces) and order the red
mullet if Milos deigns to serve it. Turned out to cost just
$12.25 or so per tiny fish (it’s listed at $49 per pound).

I returned another day to snare a spiny lobster. “We have
them tonight! They’re two-and-a-half pounds.”

That’s $212. No thanks.

Instead, I got my fix of the clawless crustacean at Paul
Bartolotta’s eponymous eatery at the Wynn Las Vegas; it serves
the beast as part of a $175, 12-course “Top Chef” tasting
menu.

How does it taste? Not a whole lot different than a Maine
lobster, but with a grown-up hint of bitterness.

Bartolotta’s prix-fixe options are efficient opt out
clauses for the complicated market menu. But here the fare is
priced by the metric system, so bring your conversion charts
along.

Imperial Shrimp

Bartolotta covers the Mediterranean. Blue lobster? $22 for
100 grams. Fried imperial red shrimp, the brassy eat-with-your-hands Italian riff on French crevettes, are $25-$35; so are
sweet, silky live langoustines, with plenty in stock on a night
Milos had none.

At Bartolotta you can devour thumbnail-size soft shell
crabs or silver-dollar-size whole squid. Bottarga (dried mullet
roe), usually shaved like orange zest, is sliced thick and
served over beans drenched in olive oil.

A few gripes: If there are four pastas on a tasting menu
(two with tomato-spiked sauces), don’t serve them all at once,
lest the diner be overwhelmed. Same with baba au rhum, semi-freddo and nine scoops of gelato, sorbet and granite. Good as
they are, it’s all a bit much. Bartolotta sometimes forgets that
most eaters aren’t NFL linebackers.

The Bloomberg Questions

Cost: $150-plus meals not uncommon at both.

Sound Level: Boisterous at Milos, quiet at Bartolotta.

Date Place: Milos, because it’s light on carbs.

Inside Tip: Call ahead to both for fish availability.

Special Feature: Milos now offers its overpriced seafood
soup for two in Las Vegas.

51 to 55: Church on a weekday. 56 to 60: The vegetable aisle at
the Food Emporium. 61 to 65: Keyboards clacking at the office.
66 to 70: My alarm clock when it goes off inches from my ear. 71
to 75: Corner deli at lunchtime. 76 to 80: Back of a taxi with
advertisements at full volume. 81 to 85: Loud, crowded subway
with announcements.

(Ryan Sutton writes about New York City restaurants for
Muse, the arts and leisure section of Bloomberg News. The
opinions expressed are his own.)